Artist Movement
by Onyxia
Summary: Rising stars come and go in the galleries filled with art. Jhin is determined to stay and continue to lead his art movement until the newest rising star Jinx comes into play. ARTIST AU


notes: a series of drabbles and thoughts fleshing out an artist au and artist movements. this is just a general outline

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The artist named Jinx. No one knows her real name and jokingly said, even she doesn't know. Her art, wild and filled the canvas to the brim with depth. Layers and layers of paint forming a thick skin. A brush stroke there, a toss from the paint can. Her paintings were praised for being "something to be experienced". Garbage. Fake. Like a father to be banished away by his son, but he won't leave not without a fight.

Minimalism, the blank canvas. Sometimes a calculated stroke of the wrist and the piece is finished. Full. Nothing to be added. A dance with the eyes, a lingering touch of color to the observer. The observers, themselves were part of the performance. His works shifted and moved with each new visitor. Yearning.

Her works always seemed hungry. Hungry for more paint, her art starved. He hated how it made him feel. Greedy. _Emaciated_. He's seen how she looks. Her bright blue hair was messily braided and stained with her own colors. Her clothing were too large on her skinny frame, too shabby to be worn in galleries and thrown together without care. Sloppy. Her works dwarfed his. Her canvases filled the room to the brim like she filled the space with colors. She colored the gallery wall itself as if her art couldn't be contained. That h e liked. How it surrounded you and swallowed you up. A certain rawness in her craft. He had hoped his new works would showcase that and that the gallery guests would feel what he felt. Jinx. jinx. How he felt was impossible, and possible. A conflicting feeling, possibly admiration? No, jealously. She didn't deserve the centerspot. His goal, at first, was to cast her out and let her fade into obscurity. Her works wiped away clean and what was left would be him.

"Jhin?" She would laugh, "Khada Jhin? What kind of name is that?" but he could see in her eyes. He had struck interest, she was amused. She didn't push further though, and was content in calling him "Jihn the Virtuoso? More like Jihn the lazy". She teased and asked about his methods in a lilting voice. "why are your works so boring, why no color, where is your passion?" She would dance around him, trying to entice him. At first, he was bored with her crude jabs but eventually returned the favor to play with her a little before moving on. Yes…it was a game at first, all in good humor and maliciousness.

He never asked for her real name and she never cared to ask for his. Their pen names embodied them and there was no need for real names. They continued to waltz in this strange game they found themselves in. Jinx would stare at him, watching him watch his own canvas, waiting to make the first stroke. He would listen to Jinx's mad cackles, as she became a hurricane of colors and splashing her paint everywhere. A little give and little take but never anything serious.

They shared a studio by chance or by choice, eventually. A large one. They separated themselves far away from each other works. Several walls separated them. Keeping them contained. His rooms laid with stone and made in mind with acoustics. They were large, empty and only with the necessary equipment. Her rooms were smaller but longer and decorated with different tiles, patterns and images. Inspiration, she would call it. "No matter where you look there's something to look at!" She would claim proudly. They would meet in the lobby where shared housing was. A simple living room with a couch. Jinx had a random routine while Jhin keep a schedule. On rare occasions, they would sometimes sit quietly together, wondering what they were together, wondering when this got so far.

Rumors clawed at the edges. A hinted collaboration between the two artists. That was a line Jhin refused to cross. He hated this idea despite his growing affections for her. He refused to let his ideals be sullied by her. uncompromising. Jinx laughed the rumors away. "ME with HIM? Jeez what kind of joke is that?" she jeered. But he knew she wasn't going to push him for it. She was waiting.

maybe it was the time of night. the way she looked like a mess. way she smelled like paint thinner. he was watching her many nights ago. she draped herself with only a shirt and panties, on the couch, her legs gangly and spread apart, an arm hanging off the edge and the other tucked under her head. his mask was off. he brushed her cheek with the tips of his fingers and her eyes fluttered awake. jinx. Jinx. she saw through him, in unexpected way. Unyielding she'd say. You won't change with the times. A man of shoddy uncompromising ideals. But even quieter she spoke. you don't need to change but at least change the way you present without straying away from your ideals. she pushed her face into your hand. the longer he watched, the more she changed, and the more he loved her. he let his hand rest on her face before moving over to kiss her. she returns it with a bite.

When morning breaks, they are tangled together, bodies aching from the awful position they fell asleep in. They push apart and they move on to their respective rooms but not without a lingering gaze between them.

It was performance time. Jhin's breath was hitched and nervous. The gallery has opened a key feature just for his works. A place for his art to become truly alive. He has been waiting for this chance, this moment. The gallery hasn't opened its doors yet but people are waiting. He knows this and he knows his works will leave them wanting. Jinx's works have been moved to allow this exhibit to set up to his liking. They are pushed aside but not forgotten. Her works remain relevant and loud. He used to loathe her work but now he respects it though he thinks it remains ugly with its mixtures of paint and colors that run afoul. It has loveliness to it in which he knows it embodies her. Jinx. Nervousness. He shudders as the people begin to funnel in. Some have picked up pamphlets showcasing his previous works. He scoffed, as if pictures could capture the essence of his art but still he was nervous. His main star remained hidden under a wine red sheet.

It was a blur from the grand reveal to the applause to the congratulations and pictures. Hands being shaken. A genius they called him. A new art movement they raved and he was the leader to usher it in. He is distracted though. He is observing her. She smiles, her eyes are shining. she knows.


End file.
